


The Crimson Knight

by Steerpike13713, Zappy



Series: Crimson Spade [19]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Batman doesn't actually show up at all in this but he is mentioned, M/M, through the looking glass we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27256321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steerpike13713/pseuds/Steerpike13713, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zappy/pseuds/Zappy
Summary: Earth 947; Red Hood, name Jack Napier, stumbles upon a visitor late into Gotham's night. His entire worldview is about to change.
Relationships: Batman/Red Hood (Joker)
Series: Crimson Spade [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/524329
Kudos: 7





	The Crimson Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Whooooh boy. Okay, so I was going through my (many) WIP for Hoodverse, and found this gem was like. 99% done. So gave it an ending and here we go! It's also like, 99% angst. So. Have fun!
> 
> A warning: there is implied murder, suicide ideation, maiming, and general horrible-after-effects of Joker.

**Earth-947**

It was a quiet night. Well, by Gotham standards, anyway, which meant there had been four rapes, three muggings and a robbery so far and it was only eleven o’clock. Still, most of the worst of the city’s supervillain population was safe in Arkham with no sign of a breakout, and Jack was quite sure he could handle most of the street-level stuff, and what he couldn’t reach himself, Jason was more than willing to take up the slack on. He’d just finished sorting out a fairly standard bit of barbarism - three men in an alley with some skinny street kid, not much more than sixteen or seventeen, who’d got nervous when the guy trying to solicit him turned out to have a couple of big, dangerous-looking friends, none of whom had any intention of paying - when he spotted the flare of light on a rooftop a few buildings away, and headed over that way to investigate. And...well, lo and behold. One large, glowing, extradimensional-portal-looking affair, and...oh, great. Not  _ again _ .

“Are you  _ still  _ looking for Ray Palmer?” he demanded, looking at what was probably Jason again, because what were the odds of getting two world-jumping Red Hoods in less than a year? Well, he’d say this for the kid, he’d at least outgrown the leather fetish since the last time Jack had seen him. Maybe this meant his own world’s Jason would too, though he wasn’t particularly hopeful.

“What? Ray? No...why would I be looking for Ray? Is that some greeting here, is it a joke?” Jack stared. That...wasn’t Jason’s voice. It wasn’t his own, either. It was higher, raspier, somehow squeakier too, and sounded like the speaker were on the verge of a hysteric fit.

“...sorry, mistook you for someone I know.”

The man waved a dismissive hand, “Happens  _ alllllll _ the time. Especially on these trips.” He paused and his body language conveyed curiosity, “Though I think you’d know since you’re 

not looking in a mirror. You have lots of travelers this way?”

“Not so very many. Not in Gotham, anyway.” Jack looked the other Hood over, considering. They didn’t look that dissimilar - same build, same costume, but the mannerisms were wrong, all the little nervous tics and shifty body language Jack had trained himself out of in his teens and early twenties. The voice was wrong, too, and unlike the mannerisms, that hadn’t been learnt. “Who are you?”

“Why, Red Hood of course! Or were you asking for another name?” He gave a flashy bow but took a step back to look Jack over as he asked his question.

“A number would suffice. Are you the second Red Hood? The third? Or is there a universe far enough along that it might be more?” Jack’s eyes flicked over the man, top to toe. The suit was higher quality, but that didn’t mean much. He held himself differently, all edginess and tension, like a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking-chairs, and his fingers never stopped twitching. The voice spoke for itself. Someone with deep-seated mental issues, but of a different sort to the lingering depression Harley- Doctor Quinzel had ascribed to Jack before she went off to Arkham and turned supervillain herself. Access to money, but still not altogether comfortable with it - he’d either inherited a bundle unexpectedly, made his fortune all at once and the shock hadn’t worn off yet or he’d married rich at some point in the recent past.

“Red Hood the first and only. Red X was almost a Hood...but that was apparently a difficult time for him and he decided to take his own name, much like Nightwing.”

“...if I knew a Nightwing, I’m sure that would be very informative,” Jack said. All right. This man had taken the name in whatever universe he came from. That did not make them the same man. Obviously. There was no reason to panic, to let his eyes linger on the long pianist’s fingers so exactly like his own, or to catalogue which of the dozen little tics this man exhibited every moment had been Jack’s mannerisms too, once. “Or a Red X. As I don’t, this puts me in something of a bind.”

“Hmm, let’s avoid bondage, brings up bad memories I’d rather not discuss. So I’ll clear things up! First off, I’m assuming this is an Owl world, right?”

“...I’m not especially familiar with universe classifications,” Jack said dryly. “But I haven’t seen very many owls in this city. There’s the Court of Owls,” he amended, “But they’re not really much of a threat anymore. Just a group of bored, rich old men sitting around in very tall buildings whining about how great they used to be before all these modern supercriminals came along and ruined their fun.”

“No, no, not them. Different foul fowl altogether. Owlman. Big handsome guy in a stylized feather suit. Causes bodily harm on a nightly basis. Killer eyes? No? Oh! Then is this a world like my very own, with a Hood and a Bat on the same team?” As he was describing the man, his hands locked together, miming a bird in flight, and for the first time since Jack had met him, the stranger’s fingers stopped twitching.

That didn’t sound especially promising either. “...I take it you’re not referring to Kirk Langstrom?” Although the description of Owlman didn’t make much sense if that were the case. Jack had certainly never seen anything that exceptional about Doctor Langstrom’s eyes.

“Not Kirk, no…is this...is this a world where he doesn’t exist at all?” His voice had lowered in volume, as if the very idea was the worst possible thing that could happen. He dropped his hands and became utterly still. It was like he’d been turned off. “What’s the point here, then?” 

“...I’m not sure I follow,” Jack said, giving the man a sidelong look. He could  _ probably  _ win if it came to a fight, he thought, but having to deal with a suicidally nihilistic version of himself would not be the best end to his evening, all things considered. “...I know somewhere near here,” he settled on instead. “I expect this is going to end up as the sort of conversation neither of us will want overheard.”

“Yeah, probably best. Ah, sorry.” The man gathered himself and then waved a hand for Jack to show the way. He was twitching again.

Jack pulled out the burner-phone, and sent a text to Oracle. ‘Something’s come up, am cutting off patrol early. Potential evil twin/parallel worlds/end of the world/all three.’ He looked over at his counterpart. “This way,” he said, and set off across the rooftops back towards the Narrows. The other Red Hood kept pace easily enough, but it was still slow going as they picked their way across the roofs, until they reached the abandoned house whose attic Jack and Jason were essentially squatting in, even if no-one seemed to have noticed.

“Ah, the Big Top! Nice to see a familiar place.” 

Jack tried not to flinch, and failed. “Sorry,” he said shortly, feeling the other man’s eyes on him. “You use this place too, then?”

“ _ Me _ , no! Yet, maybe I do…? Mostly as a post-office of sorts. Nah, Jester is the one who uses it really! I just visit!”

Jack’s hands clenched on the edge of his worktable. “And who, may I ask, is Jester?” he asked in a carefully level tone.

Either the other Red Hood didn’t notice Jack’s growing unease or he ignored it as he looked around the place. “Oh, he’s sort of like a brother? Best friend? Brother-in-law? A mix of all three? Labels are so confusing after a while, I try to avoid them. Hm, maybe t’hy’la? Is that going too far? I’ll have to ask him, better to use one word than several, as Bruce always says. Or not says.”

Given the amount of fanfiction Jeannie had written around that one little word, Jack sincerely hoped that wasn’t what Other Red Hood meant. “And you’re sure he can be trusted?” he asked, trying not to look at the other man.

The Other Red Hood paused in his steady, yet disorderly, canvassing of the room to look back at him. His voice when he spoke was lower and more serious than Jack had heard it before, “I trust him more than I trust me most days.”

Jack heard the accusation there, and shrugged. “Call me paranoid, but I’ve got...a bit of a bad history with maniacs dressed like clowns.”

That seemed to catch the man off guard, “What? But you’re-” cutting himself off the Other Red Hood started pacing, his hands flying about. If he had his helmet off, Jack was sure he’d see the man’s lips moving. “Not possible- world wouldn’t be that cruel- Jekyll and Hyde maybe? Oh you’d  _ love  _ that, wouldn’t you?”

“...your world doesn’t have a Joker,” Jack said, the realisation hitting him like a two-by-four to the ribs. And, as someone who had actually experienced a two-by-four to the ribs, he could tell you that that was an entirely accurate comparison.

If he’d been shot by Fries and his ice gun, the Other Red Hood could not have gone more completely still than he did at that. “Joker? My world? No. No.  _ No _ . It does  _ not _ . It  _ won’t _ if I’m still breathing.”

“Then  _ how do you know the name? _ ” Jack said, his fingers already inching towards the spades tucked into the lining of his jacket.

“Just because my world doesn’t have one, doesn’t mean I don’t  _ know _ one. Or several. Aha ha, I’m a traveler, remember? Seen... seen a lot of things I wish I hadn’t.”

Jack gave him an unimpressed look, rather less effective from beneath his helmet, then said. “Then how do you plan to stop it from happening in your world? I haven’t been able to find out who the Joker was before he was the Joker. Something in those chemicals makes it near-impossible to do a DNA check, and the fingerprints were useless for much the same reason. And without knowing who he is, you can’t stop him.”

“I know who he is. Or maybe, who he’s supposed to be? Who he’s  _ most likely _ to be? It’s actually…rather distressing being here and thinking that’s not the case.”

“Is there anything to suggest it isn’t?” Jack said irritably.

The Other Red Hood gave a laugh that had a hint of being unhinged in it, who  _ was  _ this man? “I’ve realized we’ve both been remiss in etiquette. All these masks between such a sensitive subject. Would you mind if we…removed them first?”

Jack considered it, but...well, however irritating he was, this guy seemed harmless enough, and if it came to it...who knew Jack’s face anyway? Jason, Jeannie, but since the scars he’d preferred his own company to the point of being downright reclusive. The rest of the people he once shared an office with talked to him online, but were willing enough to accept that the attack was enough to make him somewhat agoraphobic and terrified of the outside world. It was almost the perfect cover for what he did at night, which had taken over so much of the rest of his life it was difficult to tell where Red Hood ended and Jack Napier began.

He took off the mask, ran awkward fingers through his mop of red curls that made Jeannie laugh and call him ‘Little Orphan Annie’ for weeks after he started growing it out, and looked over at the other Red Hood. “Your turn.”

Most of the man was still, though his fingers were still moving where he’d brought his arms in towards his chest, “Oh my. A redhead? Hmm. Well this is going to be very awkward and worse,  _ clash horribly _ .” He finally brought his hands up and unclasped the helmet and halfway through paused to say, “Please don’t shoot me,” before pulling the helmet off completely. His hand ran through the short green locks, making some stand on end in a hectic fashion that looked like constant bedhead. His eyes were trained on the ground but slowly looked up to meet Jack’s own, his lips twisted in a wry half-grin.

Oh. Oh,  _ god _ . The Joker. The  _ Joker  _ is the one who became Red Hood in whatever world this man’s from? What-  _ How? _ And, more importantly, does that make Jack himself the Owlman this- Joker-Red-Hood is looking for? It took a few seconds for him to stop panicking enough to register the flaws in that theory. This man was shorter than the Joker he knew, built along different lines - more like Hood himself, all long limbs and lankiness, than the Joker, who had the added advantage of being larger-than-life physically as well as in terms of personality. And the eyes...the eyes were wrong. Bright green rather than bright blue, and familiar. And then it was only a few seconds before...that was his face. That was his nose and chin, those were his scars, those were his ears that stuck out too far that he’d always been a bit embarrassed by. No. No, that isn’t-

“Well,” he said in a voice that was only  _ barely  _ shaking, “I suppose that answers that question.”

“I’m…Jack Wayne. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I don’t think you share the sentiment.”

“Jack Napier,” Jack said automatically, because he still had that much politeness ingrained in him still, but then. “Wait,  _ Wayne? _ ”

The man moved his bow tie to pull out a hidden chain necklace holding a gorgeous ring, “Married. And, well, I didn’t have a last name really beforehand, so I just took Bruce’s.”

“Bruce Wayne. You  _ married… _ ” Jack drew in a breath. All right, so his counterpart had seduced his employer. All right if you liked that sort of thing, he supposed, but then, maybe his counterpart hadn’t worked for Wayne in his world. “He’s alive in your universe, then,” he settled on instead. Well, technically Wayne was still a missing person, but that was a technicality, really. Even Mr Pennyworth, the new owner of Wayne Enterprises, was starting to give up hope, and he’d been the one who’d campaigned hardest against giving the young billionaire up for dead when he’d disappeared upwards of ten years ago now.

Wayne dropped the helmet and it hit the floor with a sharp clatter. It seemed the exact second it hit the floor the world shattered in the man’s eyes. “...What?”

~~

Of all the worlds to go to, on this trail leading hopefully to  _ who _ he was before, if only for his own peace of mind, he had to come to a world where his center was absent. The heart that beat in his chest seemed to stop at those words from his counterpart. Hood’s reason for being, for staying alive at some points, did not exist here. Somehow it felt worse than finding that Flashpoint world, and he wasn’t sure why.

His voice shook and cracked and for a moment, his hold  _ slipped _ . “What...did you…say?”

“Well, we don’t know that he’s dead,” Napier amended. “He disappeared...fourteen, fifteen years ago now. Most people have given up on the chance of finding him alive one day, but...there’s still a chance, I suppose.”

The laugh he hated with every fiber of his being eased out of his lungs, and he felt a crazed smile trying to form on his face, “O- _ oh _ ? Still a chance is there? Hoo hoo, not the man I know, he’s not nearly so slow.”

The moment his voice slipped, there was a spade in Napier’s hand. “Stay back,” he said harshly, already readying for a throw. He’d lost control of his voice but his hands were still his, so he tossed his head back and covered his face, taking a step back in the process. No, he’d not lose control. He’d been holding on even tighter the past year, he’d been in worlds that didn’t have Bruce in them, rare though they were, he could- 

With heaving breaths he managed to get his grip back, the voice cackling in his ears as it seemed to realize it couldn’t hold control. “My Bruce is still out there. I still have a tether. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Alfred, Tim. Hahaa, even Barbara. Yes, I have people. Tommy, Jester, their Circus. Cool it, Jack. You’re still Jack.  _ Hood _ .” Sliding his hands over his face he shook his hands like he’d just cleaned mud off them. He hoped he hadn’t lost a new friend, the voice had a nasty habit of trying to do that every time he met someone new. Probably didn’t want him getting more of a support system against him. “Terribly sorry. Really wished that hadn’t happened. I’m good, honest.”

“...if you’re sure,” Napier said, still looking at him as if he were an unexploded bomb that might go off at any moment. He hated how familiar that look had become. There were precious few who didn’t give him that look, and getting fewer as the years passed. Some days he wondered if he  _ was _ a ticking time bomb. And if he’d ever be able to find a big enough radius to avoid casualties. He was beginning to doubt that.

“More sure by the minute.” He lied through his teeth with a big grin. Probably wouldn’t work on a version of himself, he of all people knew when he was lying, but hey he might as well give it a shot. Going by the look on Napier’s face, though, he hadn’t quite managed to tamp down hard enough on the Joker. Huh, come to think of it, this guy smiled less than Bats, even with the permanent grin carved into his face.

“...I suppose this is the part where you explain who this ‘Nightwing’ person is,” Napier said conversationally, “And why I’ve never heard of him before.”

Happily taking the subject change, ( _ did he really  _ not _ notice-just how much of him was he? _ ) Hood changed his smile to something more genuine, softer, “Oh Nightwing is-rather, was-the first Robin. Dick Grayson. Snarky little punk kid who grew up into an even snarkier adult with questionable fashion choices.”

“Dick Gray-  _ Two-Face? _ ” If Napier had sounded incredulous before, it was nothing to how completely gobsmacked he seemed right now. At this moment they probably looked more alike than they had previously, if Hood’s face was mirroring his own shock at that question.

“Come again?  _ Two-Face _ !? How on any Earth could Dick become Two-Face of all villains? What happened to Dent?”

“What’s Dent got to do with anything?” Napier asked, sounding honestly puzzled. “All right, Grayson’s kidnapped him a few times, but I wouldn’t say they’re that close...well, not that I know of, anyway. We don’t exactly spend much time together.”

Hood shook his head and closed his eyes, this world was getting out of hand for how fundamentally  _ wrong _ it was. “Next you’ll tell me something completely insane, like Flash isn’t a giant softie saving kittens from trees and giving his Rogues life advice.”

“...um...actually…”

Holding up one finger to stop his counterpart before he could continue, he hummed a refusal. “Nah-ah-ah. Don’t tell me. I’m going to get a headache trying to piece that together with the people I know. And I thought Owl worlds were frustrating. This is just  _ wrong _ .”

“It isn’t that he isn’t...I can’t believe I’m saying this...basically a nice person,” Napier said awkwardly, “He’s just...also in the habit of stealing priceless art and artefacts and selling them on the black market. He might still go around rescuing kittens from trees - and I know he tries to give Tricks and Piper life advice, because they always complain about it at League meetings…”

Hiding his face for a moment to take that all in, Hood mumbled, “At least he’s not committing murder. A little petty theft, nothing Catwoman hasn’t done, no don’t compare those two, there lie dragons, Hood.”

“Well, his associates are a bit more dangerous than that, but…” Napier shrugged. “It’s Central City. I think they’re mostly just in the supervillain business because it’s more fun than getting an actual job.”

For a few terrifying seconds Hood could understand that logic and actually agreed with it. Not in Gotham of course, that city that so captured and caged his beloved Bruce’s near every waking thought was much more grim and serious than light hearted Central City. Maybe he should propose a vacation next time one of them was near hospitalized, it was the only vacation time they could get.

“Fun in the sun, I suppose. Maybe that’s why Gotham’s always overcast.”

Napier gave him a flat stare, “Do you mean to imply that Central City is  _ stealing  _ all our sunlight? The bastards!”

He couldn’t help a soft laugh at that, it was the first sign this counterpart was funny, and thank the gods for that because he wasn’t sure if he could take it if all his humor was a result of  _ him _ . “So you’re not all straight face, good to know.”

“I’m being entirely serious here! They have a weather-manipulator, it’s entirely possible…” Napier broke off, snickering. “I’m taking it up with Pipes and Trickster at the next League meeting! They’ll probably think I’ve gone mad, but…” another burst of laughter, which trailed off steadily until he could stand up straight again.

“I should bring it up to my own League’s, they already think I’ve lost some of my marbles, what’s a few more?”

“...oh, god help me. My cross-dimensional counterpart is a cross between the Joker and Old Man McGucket.”

That brought a wide grin to his face and for the first time he was sure this really was one of his counterparts. He’d only met other hims willing to quote or bring up Gravity Falls. “You really are a me! Oh good, the red hair gave me pause, but now I’m sure. So I’m Fidds? I think I can handle that…ohh, that means Brucie is a raccoon...”

“...Do you know, I think I can see that,” Napier said, sounding a bit bemused. “I mean, I’m assuming your world’s version isn’t actually as stupid as he always looked on television, but he did have the whole raccoon eyes thing going on…”

Hood pondered that, and then gave a confirming nod, “Yeah, he’s a real night owl. Nocturnal workaholic. If it weren’t for me, I don’t think he’d see much sunlight, poor Alfred’s given up on getting him out in the middle of the day and just started giving him vitamin D pills.”

Napier considered that, then shook his head. “I can’t get past that. You’re on first-name terms with my  _ boss _ . You’re practically his son-in-law, on account of having married the guy who is technically-but-not-really-my-boss on account of his being a metabolically-challenged daisy pusher.”

Blinking Hood tried to process what Napier had just told him. “Say again? Alfred is  _ what _ ?” His voice squeaked out in shock, picturing Alfred in anything aside from his butler suits and prowling the Wayne estate keeping the inhabitants together and somewhat functioning was something his imagination, which was pretty good if he said so himself, could not do.

“Well, he owns the company, anyway,” Napier amended. “It was left to him after Wayne disappeared - that was why they investigated him first.” He looked a bit ashamed about that, at least.

The reminder of Bruce’s state of non-existence in this world stung, but he attempted to push it aside for the sake of his sanity. “Well… I suppose that makes...sense. But then what is Fox doing?”

“He’s still CEO,” Napier said impatiently, “But that really wasn’t what I was thinking about when you mentioned you were married to my still-very-probably-dead boss.” It was, apparently, endemic that being Gotham’s main vigilante made you tactless. Really, Hood had to wonder how Jester had avoided the plague. Maybe it was thanks to Tommy’s appearance that he dodged that bullet.

Really not wanting to continue this particular subject, Hood’s own patience was thinning. A light frown marred his pale features as he asked, “Well what _ were _ you getting at then?”

“I was thinking that it’s completely bizarre that any version of me was ever in any position to  _ meet  _ Bruce Wayne! I’ve only met  _ Fox  _ once, and that was while looking for a vending machine! I’ve never even seen Pennyworth - how in hell’s name did you get to know the guy well enough to  _ get  _ married in the first place?”

Hood ran a hand through his hair and looked away, “Oh ah. Well. First night I met Bruce was…well it was almost like. Like I was reborn. And we didn’t really see much of each other, didn’t even know each other’s names. I guess...it really started a few months later when I started to work for Wayne Chemicals? To be honest, I’m not sure what Bruce ever saw in me, especially at that point in my life, but I met Alfred for the first time just...after Thanksgiving. And that Christmas they both welcomed me in, though maybe that was because of the snowstorm. I think Alfred sees people who need families or care as a personal affront. It was ten years of not naming anything as the tension grew, and then it was Jason who was the last push and after that…” He couldn’t help the goofy smile that bloomed after that, just thinking of their first date brought a flame of warmth in his chest.

“...right.” Napier gave a twisted sort of smile. “Sorry, just...I haven’t had a family in sixteen years.”

Something akin to loss but not nearly enough to be called memory flashed in his head. Here it was, something that might lead to his own history as much as it might be painful. “We,  _ you _ had a family?” He asked quietly, perfectly aware that this was most likely a very touchy and painful subject.

“Yeah. Or...I was going to. Jeannie was expecting, when...well, I’d quit my day job by then - had some idea about becoming a comedian, didn’t work out - and I’d got in debt to some...well, the mob. They asked me to do a job for them, I said no...they came ‘round the house and beat Jeannie until…” he swallowed. “She went into labour too early. Our son lasted...maybe a few minutes in the emergency room, I don’t know. He was already dead by the time I saw him. Jeannie couldn’t cope. We just sort of...drifted apart, after that. I went to work for R&D at Wayne Chemicals, she went back to Coast City, I put on the cape. Everything just sort of snowballed after that.”

Feeling slightly hollow inside, if this was a universe like his own did all that happen to him, if that was the case how in the infinite worlds could he  _ forget that _ , Hood put a light hand on Napier’s shoulder. He flinched, he didn’t seem used to touch, but gradually seemed to force himself to relax. Hood would have felt bad for invading his personal space if he hadn’t had the same treatment from Alfred and knew from first hand experience that it did help.

“I wish I could say I knew how you felt, or that it for sure gets better but… I honestly don’t know. I don’t...remember anything before November 14th the first year I put on this mask.”

All at once Napier’s head snapped up. “November 14th?” He repeated. “Is that- Was that the same in your world too, then? The fight at the chemical factory with that gargoyle-  _ thing? _ ”

“Oh. So, you’ve met Batman?” Hood managed to not have his voice crack but just barely.

Napier swallowed again. “I think I might have killed him - I didn’t see what happened after that, just...threw him off me and ran. I’ve never been that scared before or since - not even when Crane and his fear-toxin took me back to that night. I went back to look, when it was light, but I couldn’t find a body.”

Fists clenching, one in his hair, Hood tried very hard to breathe. He’d thought maybe...but, no this made more sense, as horrible as that was. A lot of things went wrong that night, and half of them he didn’t remember and never wanted to talk about with Bruce anyway. Or hey, maybe Bruce wasn’t Batman in this messed up world where Dick was Two-Face and Flash was a thief and probably more. Maybe some other poor soul put on the cape and cowl. Suddenly the not knowing was worse and he heard the voice pick up his cackling in his head. He  _ needed _ to know for sure.

“Okay this...is going to sound weird, but can I ask you for a favor?”

Napier looks at him levelly. “You want to know what happened. To Way- Bruce,” he said, and of course he did, because that’s exactly what he’d want, if their situations were reversed, wasn’t it? “I’ll do it, but I can’t promise much.”

“I’ll help you of course, though you undoubtedly know more about the people here than I do.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

~~

Alfred Pennyworth didn’t live in the manor that was technically his. He had a house in a nice, but not too nice, part of the city. The sort of place he might have retired, if he hadn’t been left a fortune that made him one of the richest men on the face of the earth. It was one of the things that had finally convinced the police, if not the press, that he hadn’t done it - just how little he seemed to want to have anything to do with all the money that Wayne had left him. Bruce, he corrected himself, because he didn’t want to get mixed up inside his own head between Jack Wayne, standing next to him, and Bruce Wayne, fifteen years dead.

“We going the right direction? Maybe it’s just me, but I can’t really imagine Alfred living in the city.”

“This is the address on record for him,” Jack said patiently. “We should probably knock,” he added, though given how antisocial an hour of the night it was he didn’t know it’d do much good.

As if reading his mind Wayne commented, “He’s most likely up, I’ve never actually seen the man sleep. There was once a betting pool on if he was a robot or not…”

“Who won?”

“Oh, no one. It was never resolved.” With that cheery response he knocked on the door.

The man who answered it looked...well, terrible. There was a man who had been born to wear a uniform and, as he was not wearing a uniform, just a rather ugly reddish sweater and black dress pants, looked distinctly ill-at-ease. He did a double-take at the sight of them. Jack couldn’t blame him, they looked pretty much identical with their hoods on.

“Mr Pennyworth?” he said, as Wayne clearly wasn’t going to. “May we come in?”

It took a moment, but the man seemed unflappable again unnaturally fast all the same.

“Of course,” he said, and stepped aside to let them in.

Inside, the house was about as nondescript as it was possible to be. It was as if somebody had deliberately looked up how to make a house look as un-lived-in as possible, and then applied those standards ruthlessly to their daily lives.

“Am I to assume that this is about Master Bruce?” Pennyworth said, sounding inexpressibly tired all of a sudden.

With fingers fidgeting in what Jack thought was the notes for Carol of the Bells, Wayne answered. “Yes...we’re going to look for what really happened to him, er, sir. Do you have any…insight?”

“You mean beyond what I told the police fifteen years ago?” The man asked, with sarcasm that could’ve peeled paint.

“I’m new to the case, not really from this world, but I have a vested interest in it, so could you repeat what you told them?”

Pennyworth drew himself up to his full height. “I had no idea that anything was amiss until three days afterwards,” he said crisply, “Master Bruce often stayed up late, went out at irregular hours and sometimes stayed out for days. When it got to three days without a phone call, I alerted the police. Most of their other questions concerned my movements over those three days.”

Wayne made an aborted motion to console Pennyworth and instead put his hands behind his back so they’d be hidden by his red cape. “Sorry to hear that,  _ hm _ ...Mr. Pennyworth. Were there ever any leads?”

“I should probably add,” Jack said, just to be helpful, “That the ‘other worlds’ claim is entirely accurate, and I saw him step out of a dimensional portal three hours ago. Any...secrets...you might be worried about revealing about your employer’s personal habits, proclivities, illegal dealings or-”

He knew immediately he’d made the wrong decision at the look on Pennyworth’s face, and even without seeing Wayne’s he could  _ feel  _ the glare being directed at him.

“...I’d like to point out that I know my world’s Bruce...very  _ personally, _ so you don’t have to worry about anything else he might have hidden behind the grandfather clock in the manor.”

For the first time, Pennyworth looked ruffled. “You know about-” he shook it off. “I might ask  _ how  _ you know about that,” he said stiffly.

Without a word, Wayne moved his cape and bow tie, with trembling fingers he pulled out the chain that held the wedding ring he’d shown Jack. The wave of emotions that flowed across Pennyworth’s face changed faster than the rapids, from shock to suspicion, he looked toward what was probably a hidden safe before looking back, back to shock and then something that looked like a mix between wonder and bitterness.

“I was given this by my Bruce going on three years ago. He said it belonged to his mother, so I assume you would have it in your world?”

“...it’s in the safe,” Pennyworth said, almost automatically, “He- I was supposed to keep it safe. You really are, then…he’s alive, in your world?”

“Yeah, saw him this morning. Fast asleep because he can never get out of bed before noon.” Wayne’s voice was lighter, but Jack could tell it was forced. If he wasn’t wearing his mask, his face would probably be in a strained smile, which coupled with the scars would not make a pretty picture.

The ghost of a smile flitted across Pennyworth’s face. “Some things don’t change, then,” he said softly.

“They never do, for as many Bruce’s I’ve met across the dimensions. Sometimes I wish they did. So, is there anything else you can add to the statement you made to the police…?” Wayne asked with fragile hope in his voice.

“...I think there’s something I should show you,” Pennyworth said, eyes flicking between the two of them. Well. That sounded promising.

Wayne was playing some tune with his fingers again as they followed Pennyworth, Jack thought it might be O Come, O Come, Emmanuel. The drive out of the city was quiet, except for the drumming of Wayne’s fingers and the sound of the rain outside. When had it started raining? Slowly, they drew up to the gates of the biggest, darkest, creepiest house on the bluffs overlooking the city. Wayne’s playing stopped as soon as the house came into view, and he let out an almost too quiet gasp. Jack couldn’t blame him. The place looked...neat. Manicured. Rather like Pennyworth had just stood back and let the cleaners/gardeners/whoever have at it. About as much like a home as a doll’s house, and with just as much general creepiness.

“Ohh, even the manor is wrong…so bland looking…like it’s not even alive.” Wayne muttered dejectedly. Just how different was the world if Bruce Wayne had lived? Well, ‘very’ going by Wayne’s mutterings.

“That’s what tends to happen to houses with no-one living in them,” he said tartly, as the gates swung open, and the car continued up the gravel drive. As the car drew to a halt, Jack looked over at the other Red Hood on the other side of the back seat. “Are you sure you can cope with this?”

“No, but I don’t have a good track record with coping so that’s not new.”

~~

For some reason he’d always thought the manor was unchangeable. For all the worlds he’d seen, the various inhabitants of Wayne manor, the manor itself didn’t change. On the outside at least, the inside changed depending on Bat or Owl, but the structure itself seemed as solid as his own bone. So to see it so ...decrepit like this...was startling.

He should focus on something else, in the bigger picture the fact that the manor looked as run down as his heart was feeling shouldn’t matter. They had clues to find, on what ( _ killed)  _ happened to Bruce. For a minute Hood forgot that this wasn’t his world, that the Alfred Pennyworth guiding them into this skeleton of Wayne Manor was not the man who’d taken him in all those winters ago. That he didn’t know Hood and thus was not welcoming to Hood’s attempts at comfort.

Why did he travel through these worlds again? There were few feelings worse than this one as he retracted the hand he’d been about to put on Alfred’s shoulder. He could see how miserable and pained the man was just by being here, by this reminder of what happened (whatever that may be). For all that hope made life worth living, it acted as a knife to the heart as well.

Turning to this world’s Hood, what was his (their) name again? Hood asked something that had been nagging at him, “So are you usually alone on patrol?”

“Mostly, these days,” this world’s Hood said, “Bluejay’s in college now, and talking about coming up with a new name to fit in better with the theme, but after what the Joker did to him it’ll be a while before he’s ready to go back out on the streets.”

He didn’t really want to talk about _ him _ , especially how  _ he _ was possible when by all likelihood it should be the man beside him, not whoever it was, so he skipped that part of the sentence entirely. “Bluejay huh? Hmmm…is there a Bluejay in my world...there’s a Blue _ bird _ … who’s Bluejay?”

The other Hood - Napier! That was it, Napier! He ought to remember that - glanced over at Alfred up ahead. “My protege. Jason.”

Hood snapped his gloved fingers, “Oh! Okay, I can see how that works. He’s Red X in my world. Well. Robin first, but that wasn’t his name choice. Wonder why the name difference?” That last part was more to himself, then again he was still talking to himself so was that a proper distinction?

“He chose it,” Napier said defensively.

Abruptly realizing he’d been a bit rude, Hood put his hands up in a surrender, “It makes sense! Much more than Red X to be honest with you, but it was a dark emo period of his life, teenagers ya know? Bluejay sounds sort of like how I first thought of Nightwing after his name change. Oh, that must be the difference. You don’t know Dick like I do...and he was the one to name himself Robin.”

“Dick Grayson,” Napier echoed. “Who... _ isn’t _ obsessed with random chance and the sheer unfairness of the universe, in your world?”

“That’s him. I mean, the universe did still shaft him, but we helped him through it. Even caught Zuko eventually. The guy who killed his parents at the circus. I’ve never met anyone with a bigger heart than Dick.”

“...that really isn’t helping.”

Hood offered a helpless shrug, “As bad as this sounds, it’s not meant to. I’ve been to so many different worlds, it’s just pointless to try to get them all to line up. There are some things, big things, that should be  _ mostly _ universal, or as universal as infinite diversity can be, but I’ve sort of...accepted there are worlds where my friends and family aren’t...very  _ friendly _ .” After another moment of thought he added, “Some are harder to grasp than others though.”

“Such as?”

Blue eyes hidden not enough behind a mask of straw and stitches and black flashed in his memory. Followed by the memory of screams and pain and blood god so much blood  _ how could he slip like that- _

“Scarecrow. But...a beloved face behind the mask.”

Napier made an impatient noise in his throat, “Wonderful. Look, melodrama is usually my thing around here, stop trespassing.”

“You know, if you want to be top drama you have to keep up. I’ve had to fight for my spotlight in Gotham’s stage, you’ve got front stage all yourself. But to cut the drama, I’ve yet to find a worse situation than Bruce’s eyes behind Scarecrow’s mask.”

“...you married the  _ Scarecrow _ .”

That stopped Hood in his tracks and he turned to face Napier fully, “ _ No _ .” His voice was hard and filled with the pain and horror of that thought, bringing back memories of those first months back from that dreadful trip where Thomas had to be the one to drag him from his shadows. “There’s just  _ A _ world out there that  _ had _ a Bruce who was Scarecrow. He wasn’t  _ my _ Bruce.  **He wasn’t** .”

Napier didn’t seem to know what to say to that. “...do I want to know what happened?” he settled on in the end.

Just like that all the tension that had built in his muscles left him and Hood let his arms drop, a broken and half hysterical laugh escaping him, “What happened? What  _ happened _ ...was the second worst moment of my life, and trust me that’s saying something. And that was before it ended in blood.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Yeah, no.” Thankfully Alfred was far enough ahead of them he probably didn’t hear most of that, though Hood wouldn’t underestimate his hearing...or eavesdropping abilities. Not wanting to go any further into that subject, and already dreading sleeping tonight, Hood sped up to catch up to the elderly man who was just pushing the old and broken grandfather clock aside to reveal the disused staircase.

“...Ok. Somebody watched too much Scooby-Doo growing up.” Napier reached out to run a hand down the side of the clock. “This is it, isn’t it? The one thing the cops didn’t know about this case.”

“Until this evening, no one else knew.” Alfred informed them solemnly. His eyes were dull with pain of keeping this secret, all these years. Hood once again wanted to reach for him, and again held himself back. Were this any other situation, with anyone else, he’d have joked about being loyal to the end and beyond. The voice was nagging him to, which was why he knew for a fact he shouldn’t.

“Let’s go down this rabbit hole, then!” he said instead, his usual cheer replaced with a glass-fragile mask. Napier nodded and, together, they started down the dusty stairs. For the most part, the stairs leading down into the cave were the same in nearly every other world Hood had been to. With the exception of a lot more dust and the occasional mouse running around. Much as he hated to admit it, this place needed a cat.

“I wonder if I should get Tim one for his birthday.” Hood mused to himself, mostly thinking out loud as he gazed around the cave. “Have to be a black cat, or a tabby. Something fierce looking so Bruce won’t protest as much.” Soon enough his steps lead him to the center of the cave and he almost pulled off his mask to get a better look around. Probably shouldn’t, Alfred was still there and that’s a look that would give a man a heart attack.

Behind him, Napier was walking over to the glass case where a single tattered Bat-suit was still preserved. Dredged out of the river, Alfred was saying, but Napier wasn’t paying any attention. He looked horror-struck, one hand going to the glass as he stared at the ruined costume. The ruined, acid-stained costume. Oh, no. Oh,  _ god _ .  _ Anything _ but that.

“...you found this by the river?” Napier asked, his voice shaking. “Where? By the old Ace Chemical Factory? The one that’s abandoned now?” He seemed to realise the flaw in that and shook his head. “No...it would’ve washed him out further downstream.”

“I found it in Port Adams. With no signs of anyone else around, not even…”  _ A body _ went unsaid but not unheard. Alfred looked as though he were reliving the memory, but this time Hood didn’t attempt to comfort him. He could barely stand on his own, his mind screaming at him, the voice laughing at him, at these implications.

It was Napier who reached out to steady him. “I think I know what happened,” he said roughly. “Or...I think I can make a close enough guess.”

_ Please no _ , he wanted to say.  _ Please not  _ that _ answer. _ When he wanted to know, desperately needed to know, he never wanted to know  _ this _ . Instead he said nothing, not trusting his hold on his own personal demon to prevent it from piping up.

Napier’s shoulders shifted uncomfortably. “The last time you saw Bruce Wayne...that was the evening of the 14th of November?” Alfred nodded, apparently unable to speak, and Napier drew in a harsh, shuddering breath before he went on. “I was in a fight that night, at the old Ace Chemical Factory - the one the Joker nearly levelled a few years back. I’d got wind of a robbery planned for that night, by a new gang that was spreading rumours of some sort of monstrous creature as an intimidation technique. When something- someone,” he amended, taking a look up at the ruined costume, “That looked like a gargoyle attacked me, I assumed it was the gang leader.” He shook his head, “I wasn’t a very good fighter then - it was my first night out - and in the confusion, he ended up…”

“Falling into the vats below.” Hood finished, not even aware he’d opened his mouth to do so. His voice was surprisingly his own, but it sounded flat and emotionless. His knees shook and not even Napier could hold him upright any longer. “He’s...he’s  _ him  _ here, isn’t he?”

“So it would seem.” Napier’s voice was bleak.

Alfred cleared his throat, “Him?” he asked, in the tone Hood had dubbed ‘have you completely taken leave of your senses, or do you actually believe you know something I don’t, sir?’

Voice getting a bitter edge, Hood spoke as his hands slowly went up to his helmet. “The vats...were filled with acid of some sort. It... _ eats away at you _ . At your body, your  _ sanity _ . And leaves...this,” with a slight hiss and a clatter his helmet fell to the cave floor and Hood looked up at the man who was and wasn’t family. 

The man looked horrified. He took a step back from Hood as if he were a monster about to attack. Hood couldn’t blame him, in this world he looked like it. Alfred started to shake his head, his denial and fear warring on his face. “No. No you cannot have me believe that...that Master Bruce is- _ no _ ! He would  _ never _ -” Alfred’s voice cracked and failed him.

“From what I’ve seen, it isn’t exactly a choice,” Napier said, and Hood felt his counterpart’s hand, shockingly warm on his shoulder. The warmth brought with it an anchor, if a temporary one. It was enough to give him the strength to continue speaking without losing control.

“It’s...not really. The closest I can come to describing it is like...an addiction. Mixed in with a voice in your head that you can barely differentiate from your own. Urging you on, making sense in some twisted way that you  _ want to _ do these things. And if you give in, if you slip for even a second...it’s like the greatest joy possible. And then just like a drug, the worst crash.” Hood shuddered from the memories of the few times he’d slipped. More than Bruce or even Thomas knew about. “I’m one of the lucky ones in all the universes. Most...most just get eaten away until nothing is left but the voice.”

Alfred paced for a moment before throwing his arm out and pointing in the direction of Gotham. “You’re telling me that the boy I raised, whom I love as a  _ son _ , is the monster that prowls the streets of Gotham with a smile on his face and blood on his hands?”

“Um...pretty much, yes,” Napier admitted. “Or...what’s left of him is. I’m not sure how much that is, though - if the- the Joker persona is that universal, it probably isn’t anything to do with the original person...host? I mean, presumably in all those worlds where a version of us,” he nodded to Hood, “Ends up the Joker, he doesn’t end up as that world’s Red Hood? He still remains...what did you say...Owlman?”

“Batman,” Alfred corrected, apparently without really thinking about it. And at the sound of that name a laugh sputtered out of Hood’s lips. As tears streamed down his pale face, more laughs bubbled up that sounded almost like sobs. He went the rest of the small distance to the ground and rolled onto his back, unable to control the horrid laughter spilling out of him.

“Wayne? Wayne? Jack?  _ Red Hood! _ ” Napier sounded panicked, but Hood hardly noticed. He was lost in his own head, just trying to get away from this world. The voice laughed along with him until he wasn’t sure if the laughter was only in his head or if the other could hear it too. 

_ Others? There’s only you and me, Hoody. _

Hood looked around and saw the familiar fun house mirrors. Had he passed out? Was this all just a dream?

_ Life’s a dream Hoody! Every waking moment is a nightmare, I thought you knew that by now. _

God he felt so tired of it all. He didn’t have energy to talk back to the voice, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to sleep and never wake up or if he just wanted to take a nap...just a small one. Just until he heard Bruce’s voice again, chiding him for sleeping on the cave floor when work had to be done. He always got so upset about it, it was adorable really.

_ But Bruce isn’t here. There is no Bruce in this world, just  _ me _.You’re all boring in this world, looks like Bruce-y boy is a much funner guy! Oh hey- let’s go play with him, bet it’ll be a  _ **_blast!_ ** _ Gee, wonder what happened to those brats you favor so much?  _

Shut up, shut up, this isn’t my world. My Bruce is safe from you, the kids are safe from you.

_ No they’re not. You’re still there, and I’m still here. It’s all just a time game, you see? Sometimes they just...blow sooner than others. You can’t fight me forever. Just wake up and you’ll see… _

With strength he didn’t know he still had, Hood stood from his prone position and smashed the mirror closest to him that had that smug smile with a punch. It shattered but gave no satisfaction as the laugh was still there, still drowning out everything else. Why couldn’t he block out that irritating and infuriating laugh? A sudden rush of pain exploded in his hand and he looked down to see blood covering it. Huh, that hadn’t happened before. With a few blinks the fun house faded away to the Bat Cave and the pain came back in full force. His laughter died down until he was only heaving breaths and choked sobs.

~~

On balance, Jack’s horrified cry of: “Oh, god, not again!” may not have been in the best of taste, but it wasn’t every day one’s doppelganger had what looked like a full-on psychotic episode right in front of you, and...well, it wasn’t as though Wayne was in any state to take offence.

“...does this happen often?” he asked, when the man had stopped shaking enough to hope he might get a sensible answer.

“More than comfortable, less than it could...hasn’t happened in a couple years. But ah, that’s when...I have a stable network, ya’know?” Wayne held his bloodied hand to his chest, and with tears still falling down his face, quietly asked, “Does anyone have a bandage?”

Alfred slowly pointed back up the stairs, staying a wide distance away from the both of them. “There’s a first aid kit back in the manor. I’ll...fetch a broom as well, then hm?”

“Thank you, Mr Pennyworth,” Jack said, “I- I know this can’t be welcome news.”

“No, I don’t think you do, and I’d kindly like you not to pretend you understand just now.” With that, the man turned on his heel and went back up the steps to get the broom and bandages. Jack, shifted, for once wrongfooted. He was...or, he had been, before the scars...quite good with people, he felt. And with the mask on he was seldom wrong-footed. Now, though...god, what was anyone supposed to do in the face of this? They had found what they were looking for, he supposed. There was at least that.

God, he wished he didn’t know. It had been so much easier to hate the Joker when he was just...a face, a penchant for horrifying violence, something that had sprung up out of nowhere and had no past, no family, nothing that made him human. He looked over at his counterpart. Now the Joker was humanised twice over, and it made him uneasy, because...well, the Joker had been the one enemy he could reliably hate. He felt sorry for Grayson and Jones and...and Harley, could admire Crane and Tetch and Nigma’s genius even when he was fighting them, and...well, at least Cobblepot had limits. He’d always tried to remember that they were human. Was he a hypocrite, that confronting that same fact about the Joker had shaken him so badly?

“...what’s he like, naturally?” he asked, just to try and reconcile it inside his mind. “And- Has anyone ever succeeded in curing it, once it’s taken hold?”

Wayne looked at him blankly for a moment, then back down at his hand and answered him without looking up again. “No one’s cured of it. Some...some it hasn’t touched, and some are like me who fight. But it’s almost always there. I met one, a friend of mine, who doesn’t have it but fell in the vat. I wonder what the difference between us is…” Then he smiled through the tears and pain and it was almost a sweet picture. “As for Bruce. He’s the other half of my soul. Keeps me grounded in the world, he’s passionate and so much empathy it’s painful for him so it makes him a bit snappy. But it’s all a front, he’s one of the most giving and caring people I’ve ever known. Which I guess isn’t saying a whole lot since I don’t remember half my life, but… He wants to help people, the whole of Gotham he takes onto himself everyone’s troubles and trauma. Wears himself out trying to keep people safe and get help for those we fight. The world could have made him a hateful person...and in some worlds it has...but not mine.”

It was the sort of grand romantic speech he’d have liked to have given about Jeannie, and probably had once or twice. Jack knew what ‘twitterpated’ on his face looked like. Apparently that was the same whatever universe he happened to be living in. And...it didn’t help a bit. Whoever that man was, there was no trace of him in Joker. For a moment, he wondered if it might be kinder to let Jason have his way, the way he’d been spoiling for ever since his little foster-brother was murdered, and just...end it. But he knew almost before the thought was fully-formed in his mind that he’d never be able to do it. Wayne, apparently, had read his thoughts, or...well, people always had said Jack was very expressive.

“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not that easy. I’m not sure what event you’re thinking of that would make it worth it, but I’m telling you right now it’ll never make the guilt go away. Killing just makes everything worse. When you take a life...it doesn’t take all of you. Just the part that matters the most.”

“Are you telling me he’d want to live like that?” Jack asked, but it wasn’t- It didn’t have any real bite behind it. “I’d want it...I’d want an end before it came to that, if it were me.” It had been, somewhere - in a lot of somewheres - and wasn’t that just a kick in the teeth?

Wayne gave him a look that was an odd mixture between pity and understanding, “What do you think I think about? I haven’t...I mean, once I slipped up. A-and not everyone knows w-what I did, but  _ I do _ and it’ll never go away. And th-that’s just  _ once _ . I wouldn’t wish this curse on anyone. But I also wouldn’t curse someone to darken their souls by putting them, us,  _ me _ out of misery. There...there is no good answer or outcome to this scenario.”

“I suppose not. That was-” he cut himself off sharply - there was no need to undermine his counterpart’s faith in his Jason, not if he didn’t have to. “What now?” he asked, looking back at the broken case and the acid-ravaged armour inside it.

Wayne dragged his gaze to the case as well and stared at the broken glass. “I can’t stay here any longer. I think if I do...I’ll lose myself.” He hesitated before looking back at Jack, “I’m sorry about this. Probably shattered your world too, huh? Maybe I really should give up this whole traveling thing...seems to just cause more pain.”

“...Really? Every single universe you’ve explored has been painful?” Jack asked, with a sort of sick, train-wreck fascination.

Bobbing his head back and forth in deliberation, Wayne conceded, “Well, no. My best friend comes from one world and lives in another, I’ve seen some weird worlds. Not...not all of them are painful. I tend to stay away from the ones that aren’t inhabited at all, but there are countless out there. And, sometimes it’s just...it just brings painful thoughts of what-if, and could-have-beens.”

Jack nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak. Could-have-beens. If he’d taken that damn job at the chemical factory, helped those thugs steal the payroll...they hadn’t decided on a name, but his son’d be almost Jason’s age by now. Had that happened, somewhere? Or...or if he’d never taken up the cape, after that, and the fight at the factory had never happened...no. Let it rest. Somewhere out there, maybe, was a world in which it had all gone  _ right _ . It just...wasn’t this one, was all.

“You can’t look away, though,” he said, and that much wouldn’t have changed. He’d always been curious, and the Joker...well, impulse control wasn’t one of his strengths, and curiosity was probably the strongest impulse Jack had. “I know that look. You want to  _ know _ .” He might give it up for a few months, but in the end? Jack would put money on it that that phase oscillator wouldn’t even have gathered dust before it was being brought out to be used again.

Wayne didn’t say anything, just shifted his gaze to the oscillator on his right wrist. The slumping of his shoulders confirmed Jack’s thoughts. It was, of course, right about then that Pennyworth turned up again.

“Your hand, Mister...Hood?” His voice was polite but not warm, and Wayne held out his bloody right hand. He continued his sullen silence as Pennyworth took off the ruined leather glove and wrapped his hand. “Broken middle finger, I’m afraid. You should get a cast for it when...when you go home.” Once he was done he held on to Wayne’s hand for a moment longer and looked at the device strapped to his wrist. He then looked up at Wayne and his voice was firm even if his words were pleading, “Take care of him. Please.”

“I would sacrifice a great many things to keep him safe, Al.” Wayne quietly vowed, the two sharing a look before Pennyworth withdrew his hands.

“Safe travels. Now if you please, vacate the premises. I am going back to the townhouse, and have a stiff drink or several. Good evening.” Pennyworth nodded to both of them, and then made his way back up the stairs. Wayne watched him go mournfully, before starting to fiddle with his oscillator.

“Sorry to drop that emotional bombshell and run, but…”

“No, it’s fine. Well, no, this night has been a nightmare but.”

The two Red Hoods gave each other humorless smirks, and then there was a dimensional portal between them. With a small wave with the bandaged hand, Wayne left. Jack stood in the bleak silence of the cavern and looked at the broken glass and abandoned helmet. Deciding to leave it there, he made his way out of the mausoleum of misery.

**Author's Note:**

> This does mention some things that haven't yet been posted, so enjoy those little nuggets of what happens. I will reward comments/questions with cryptic answers and maniacal laughter.


End file.
